


All Things Just Keep Getting Better

by f-ing-ruthless-baz (my_mad_fatuation)



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Simon Snow, Coming Out, Fluff, M/M, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Television Watching, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 17:38:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17923352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_mad_fatuation/pseuds/f-ing-ruthless-baz
Summary: I’ve just walked into my room only to find my antagonistic roommate/secret crush, Simon bloody Snow, crying. He’s sitting on his bed with his back against the wall, laptop open in front of him and headphones on, and he is most certainly crying. He’s sniffling and wiping tears from his eyes, though he doesn’t look sad exactly, just… soft.--------When Baz walks in on Simon watching an episode ofQueer Eyein their room, the last thing he expects is to be asked to join him. But he is.





	All Things Just Keep Getting Better

**Author's Note:**

> Just a cute little fluff-ball of a fic, where Baz and Simon watch _Queer Eye_ together and it opens some conversations for them. Includes some very (not-at-all) raunchy hand-holding, oh my!
> 
> It doesn't quite fit with canon, because there's no mention of most of the problems going on in the book, and also they have internet access in their room. But it's just a bit of silliness, so who cares?

What do I do now?

I’ve just walked into my room only to find my antagonistic roommate/secret crush, Simon bloody Snow, crying. He’s sitting on his bed with his back against the wall, laptop open in front of him and headphones on, and he is most certainly crying. He’s sniffling and wiping tears from his eyes, though he doesn’t look sad exactly, just… soft.

I don’t think he heard me come in, either, otherwise he would have stopped by now. I feel like I should say something to alert him to my presence, but I can’t decide whether to go sympathetic or harsh. _Who am I kidding? I only do harsh._

“What are you blubbering about, Snow?” I say once I’ve shrugged my jacket off and hung it up in the wardrobe.

He seems startled when he looks up at me, but quickly hits the space bar on his laptop and removes his headphones. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough.”

“Whatever.” He wipes his eyes again and stares down at his laptop screen. “I wasn’t blubbering, by the way.”

“What were you doing, then?” I ask with a condescending sneer. “Weeping? Sniveling? Did someone eat all the sour cherry scones before you could get any today?”

“No,” he says, pouting. “You wouldn’t understand.”

I take a seat on my bed across from him and let out a bored sigh. “Understand what?”

“Well, _Baz_ , those of us with functioning hearts sometimes have these things called _emotions_ ,” he replies in a patronizing tone. “And these emotions can sometimes be triggered by stuff like _empathy_ —”

“What is your point, Snow?”

“I’m just saying, there’s nothing weird about having an emotional reaction to something, all right?”

I roll my eyes derisively. “And what, pray tell, are you emotionally reacting to?”

“I’m watching a show, okay?”

“What show?”

“Like I said, you wouldn’t understand.”

I glare at him challengingly. “Try me.”

He keeps his eyes fixed on his laptop for a moment before looking up at me. “If you absolutely must know, I’m watching _Queer Eye_ , and before you say anything, it’s a really moving show and lots of people cry while watching it, so don’t judge me when you haven’t even seen—”

“I have seen it,” I say, though I’m not sure why I’m admitting that.

His expression shifts from righteous indignation to confusion. “You have?”

“Yes. And I, too, sometimes have emotional reactions to it, so maybe I do have a functioning heart after all.”

“Oh… Okay. Sorry,” he says, looking down again.

It seems like neither of us knows what to say for a minute before he finally speaks again. “Do you want to watch with me?”

I frown at him skeptically.

“Er, never mind, just forget—”

“All right,” I say. “But you have to bring it over here because I’m not going anywhere near the disaster that is your bed.”

He blinks at me for a second. “Wait, seriously?”

I shift back towards the wall impatiently as I wait for him to make his way over, as if I’m somehow doing a favour for him, even though I cannot imagine why he would want to sit and watch this with me.

He brings his laptop over and settles in next to me on my bed, though there is quite a gap between us. I’m going to have to move closer to get a decent view of the screen, but I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. I can smell him even from here, and it’s driving me mad. I don’t know that I could stand being any closer.

Unfortunately for me, he seems to notice that he’s too far away for me to properly watch the show with him, so he scoots towards me a little, and his arm brushes against mine briefly. I have to force myself not to flinch.

“Here,” he says, turning his laptop slightly in my direction. “This episode’s pretty much done, so I’ll start the next one.”

“Cool,” I reply, though I feel very uncool saying it.

This is weird, though. I never thought I would wind up with Snow in my bed—even like this—watching a show with him that features five gay men giving people _more than a makeover_ , but here I am.

I wonder if he knows.

Actually, I wonder if he _is_ …

Yes, I know that a person does not need to be gay to enjoy watching _Queer Eye_ , and in fact it should be encouraged for straight guys to feel comfortable watching it and crying over it and basically being allowed to have feelings, so I’m not making any assumptions here. But if he were… Well, I probably shouldn’t let my mind go down that road.

At first I don’t think I’ll ever be able to focus on the show itself, as I can feel Snow’s heat radiating off of him, even though he’s not actually making physical contact with me—I don’t know if physical contact would be better or worse—but I realize by the end of the episode that I must have gotten into it, because I’m starting to tear up over the emotional goodbyes as the _makeover-ee_ thanks the Fab Five for helping him rediscover his self-worth. Thankfully, Snow doesn’t notice—or at least he doesn’t mention it.

“I love how proud Antoni looks whenever someone prepares the food like he taught them to,” Snow says towards the end of the episode, though it’s the first time either of us has spoken in forty-five minutes.

I glance over at him and see that he’s got a small, oblivious smile on his face as he keeps his eyes fixed to the screen, so I take the opportunity to watch him for a moment while he’s distracted. I could stare at his face for hours, I swear.

Until he looks right at me, that is.

His expression grows slightly concerned when he realizes that I’ve been staring at him for the better part of a minute. “What are you looking at?” he says. It doesn’t sound like a challenge, though; it sounds more like curiosity.

 _You_. I wish I could say that to him, but I feel so raw and vulnerable right now that it would come out much more sincere than would be appropriate. So I turn my head quickly and mutter, “Nothing,” under my breath.

“Do you feel like watching another?” he asks, catching me off guard.

I wasn’t expecting him to want to continue this—whatever it is—but I don’t think I should turn down the chance to keep sitting next to him for a while, since I’m never doing this again.

“Sure,” I say, and when I look back at him he’s smiling again as he starts the next episode.

***

I notice Snow yawning more frequently throughout the third episode that we watch, so when it ends I suggest that he go to sleep. It’s already much later than I usually see him up.

“I’m not—” He yawns again. “Tired.”

“You can barely keep your eyes open,” I say as I look over at him, slumped against the wall with his eyelids drooping. I can’t help but chuckle a little, because it’s rather endearing.

“One more,” he whines, but I close his laptop before he can resume the playback. He scowls at me, but he’s too sleepy for it to look at all menacing.

“We can watch more tomorrow,” I tell him, but then it hits me what I’m actually saying. I’m basically telling Snow that we can _hang out_ together. That we can _plan to hang out_ together. That’s absurd.

“Okay, good.” He lifts his laptop and slides himself towards the edge of the bed before getting up and flopping over onto his own.

I try not to think about what this means as I go change into my pyjamas in the bathroom. When I get back out to the room, he’s already tucked up in his bed—or as tucked up as he likes to get, which actually involves much of him sticking out of the covers—and I assume he’s asleep.

“Baz?” he says once I get settled in my own bed. It startles me a bit, but his voice sounds soft, both in volume and tone. It’s not a voice of his that I’m used to hearing, at least not directed at me.

“Yes, Snow?” I reply, resorting to my default tone, _slightly annoyed_ , as per usual.

“Who do you think is your favourite?”

I look over and see him staring up at the ceiling, the side of his face barely illuminated by the moonlight coming in through the window. “My favourite what?”

“Of the guys on the show.”

“Why are you asking?”

“I’m just wondering,” he says, and then yawns again. “I think mine’s Antoni.”

I watch as he turns his head to face me, but I don’t look away. I wonder if he’s trying to tell me something…

“You know how much I love food,” he adds with a grin.

Ah. Of course.

He watches me expectantly. “So who’s yours?”

I’m not exactly sure if I should tell him, but I do anyway. “Same. Antoni,” I say, which seems to surprise him a little.

“How come?”

“Because,” I reply, rolling onto my back with a huff because I can’t face him anymore. “Just… because.”

“He’s quite fit, isn’t he?”

“Yeah…” It takes me a moment to realize what I’ve just said, but once I do quickly I fumble for my next words, like I’m Snow. “Er, I mean, I just— He’s—”

“Baz?” he cuts in, though his voice sounds small and hesitant. “It’s… It’s normal to think a bloke is fit, yeah?”

I sigh. “Of course it is, Snow.”

“Right. Okay,” he says, exhaling a breath of relief. “I mean, if you also think he’s fit, then it doesn’t mean I’m gay if I think so too, right?”

I honestly don’t know what to tell him right now, but I’m freaking out internally. Is Snow… questioning his sexuality? _Crowley, this can’t be real_.

“Baz?” he repeats when I still haven’t replied after a minute.

“I can’t say for sure.” I swallow audibly. “It might mean you’re gay. Or bi, or whatever.”

“But you—”

“I’m gay, Snow,” I say, and the words echo through the room even though I spoke them quietly. Maybe they’re just echoing through my mind.

It’s Snow’s turn to go silent for a minute, but he eventually responds with, “Oh.”

“Yeah, so…”

“Have you told anyone else?” he asks, and I look at him again to see that he’s still facing me.

“Just my family.”

He smiles a little. “Okay.”

I probably shouldn’t have told him, but he seems to know about my vampirism and hasn’t tattled on me yet, so I doubt he’s going to out me as gay either—although being gay wouldn’t get me kicked out of school, I don’t think.

In fact, I feel much calmer than usual as I drift off to sleep. It’s nice having one less thing to hide while I’m in my own room.

***

“Took you long enough,” Snow says when I walk in, having just come from my evening hunt. He’s sitting on my bed with his laptop, like he’s been eagerly awaiting my return so we can watch another episode or two of _Queer Eye_ , like we’ve done for the past couple of nights.

“Quit complaining, I’m here now, aren’t I?” I reply as I slip off my jacket and drape it over the back of the chair, too impatient to put it away properly at the moment.

I crawl up onto my bed and settle in my spot next to him. Almost instinctively, he shifts closer to me, even though the screen was angled such that I could see it perfectly fine already. His shoulder rests against mine, and I almost— _almost_ —don’t internally freak out about it.

We watch an episode, mostly in silence, though one of us—usually Snow—will throw in the odd bit of commentary here or there. He pauses it as soon as the episode finishes and looks at me. Although this one wasn’t so much of a tearjerker, I can tell that his eyes have gotten a little watery towards the end, as have mine.

“How did you know you were gay?” he asks, which is just about the last thing I expect him to say.

“I, er, I guess I’ve always just sort of known,” I say uncertainly. I’m not entirely sure how I knew, I just did.

“Oh.” He sounds almost disappointed.

“Why do you ask, anyway?”

“I don’t think I’m gay,” he says after a pause.

“Okay—”

“But I don’t think I’m straight either. If that makes sense.”

“So you’re, what, bisexual?” I ask, and it sounds stupid as I say it.

He shrugs. “I dunno if it matters right now. I don’t think it’s the reason Agatha broke up with me, though.”

I frown at him a little—I know they’d broken up recently, but I wasn’t sure why.

“I mean, I don’t think I was really, like, _attracted_ to her, technically, but that doesn’t mean I’m not attracted to girls, I guess,” he continues. “But it also doesn’t mean that I’m not attracted…”

“To boys?” I try to say it in a reassuring way, but I worry that the instinctively snide tone in my voice may undercut my sincerity.

He nods slightly, but he still doesn’t look at me.

“Well, that’s okay, right?” I add, nudging him with my arm. “You can like whoever you want to like.”

“I’m not sure that I can,” he says so faintly that I almost wouldn’t have heard him if it weren’t for my heightened senses.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He clears his throat and swirls his finger over the trackpad on his laptop to wake up the screen so he can jump to the next episode, but I stop him by reaching over and taking hold of his hand before he clicks anything. Now he looks at me, perplexed.

“Are you afraid of what people are going to think of you?” I ask. “Because I know what it’s like to deal with homophobes—my father is one, so I get it—but I also don’t think you need to hide who you like just to appease others and—”

The hand that I’m holding turns over and holds mine back. I look down at it for a moment, and then meet his gaze again. _Whoa._

“I think I might need to keep hiding, though,” he whispers. He lets go of my hand and lets his drop to his side, but I immediately scoop up his other hand—the one closest to me—and tentatively interlace my fingers with his.

“I… don’t want to hide anymore,” I say as he eyes me curiously, though his expression soon turns into a small smile. It’s too hard to look at him while I say this so I return my focus to our entwined hands. “I like you, Simon. And it’s okay if you don’t like me that way, or anything, but I’m tired of hiding it—”

He squeezes my hand and it shuts me up. “Good.”

When I look up, eyes wide, he’s still smiling at me.

“Shall we?” he says, gesturing towards his laptop.

I nod and he presses _Play_ before nestling against my arm. He even rests his head on my shoulder as he keeps hold of my hand in his.

And so we watch another episode.

Together.

**Author's Note:**

> For the record, Jonathan is my favourite. :)
> 
> Also, I'm going to be super obnoxious and mention that I have a tumblr now for my _Carry On_ shenanigans, [@f-ing-ruthless-baz](https://f-ing-ruthless-baz.tumblr.com), so feel free to befriend me over there because I am so lonely.


End file.
